


The Stable Master & the Diplomat

by clarityhiding



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Eggpreg, Eggs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-15 11:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18072368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarityhiding/pseuds/clarityhiding
Summary: This is how they meet: Jason is mucking out the stables when Ambassador Drake crashes through the roof, causing severe structural damage and managing to take out King Bruce's favorite mount.In which Jason is the royal stable master and Tim is a draconic ambassador and there areshenanigans.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Strawberryjei asked for "Awful First Meeting + First Kiss (+ 'don’t do that again unless you want me to kiss you, damnit')" for the fanfic trope mash-up meme on Tumblr and then I ran with it and made a new AU.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~Look, I'm not _saying_ there'll be more of this, but there's a good chance there'll be more of it.~~

Instead of calling the royal guard, the man that catches Jason sneaking around the royal stable sends a boy to fetch someone from the castle, keeping a firm grip on Jason's collar while they wait.

"Now, how 'bout you tell us again how you got onto the grounds," the man demands after the sent-for man has arrived, likely the seneschal or someone—he's wearing what's almost a uniform, austere and simple, but the cloth is very fine and tightly woven, the stitches nigh-invisible, so _probably_ not one of the guard.

"I just went through the tunnel," Jason explains, gesturing at said tunnel. "I didn't know it was the palace wall, I was just looking for a place to hide." The bruiser from the lower quarters of the city had chased him pretty far, hoping to exact revenge after he ratted out Willis's ring of thieves and ruffians to the city watch. If he hadn't found the tunnel when he did, he's is sure he would've been a goner.

The newcomer's eyebrows shoot up and he steps up to the wall. " _This_ tunnel?"

"Duh. I don't see any other tunnels, d'you?" Rich folk are pretty stupid sometimes. If for no other reason than that they put really obvious tunnels in their supposed impregnable walls.

"Hm," the man says, then leans over and, before Jason can stop him, twitches his hair away from where it hangs over his ears. "Part elf, are you?"

"I'm one thirty-second elf," Jason begrudgingly admits.

"Oh? And how do you figure that?"

"My dad's grandma's grandad was an elf. One thirty-second." It's not that hard to figure out, if you know your basic numbers.

"That's nicely figured. You better keep this one around, Harold. He's sure to go places," the man says, clapping Jason's captor on the shoulder.

"What? A little sneak-thief like this?"

"Hey! I didn't steal nothin' from you. Check my pockets, they're empty!"

"I suspect that would be because you've already eaten the pie that was supposed to be Harold's lunch. There are still crumbs on your cheeks," the lord says. "It couldn't hurt to have an extra-sharp set of ears this close the tunnel, and elves are notorious for having a knack with animals."

"Your majesty! You can't possibly think _I_ should take him on," Harold protests. "'Sides, don't know anything about training up magic."

Jason leaves off flattening his hair back over the pointed tips of his ears to glance between the men. "Magic? I haven't got any magic!"

"Maybe not," the lord says, his blue eyes twinkling in the late afternoon sun. "But elves can see through all glamours, and there's apparently enough elf in you to make it count. Welcome to the palace, son. I'm sure we'll find something to keep you occupied with, in time."

Which is how Jason ends up apprenticed to the royal stable master instead of running messages in the Narrows like most of the kids he grew up with. He sends money back to his mother when he can, but he's so busy learning—letters, numbers, history, not to mention everything there is to know about horses—that he hardly ever gets a chance to see her. When he does, she's always telling him how proud she is of him, how now the whole world will see just how bright and special he is.

Five months after Harold catches him, the captain of the guard that Jason ratted Willis out to comes calling at the palace, asking for him. Catherine Todd is dead, murdered in some dark alley after collecting the latest letter and care package from her son. Jason thanks the man for letting him know, then spits in the dirt beside the stable and swears he's never setting foot in the Narrows again.

He never learns Willis's fate.

 

* * *

 

This is how they meet: Jason is mucking out the stables, and Tim crashes through the roof, causing severe structural damage and managing to take out King Bruce's favorite mount, which would be bad enough on its own, except it's very hard to explain that you aren't to blame when the thing responsible is a fucking _huge_ dragon. Who, oh yeah, also happens to be invisible to most of the castle the moment.

"This is your fault," Jason says darkly, glaring at the dragon hunkered down in the corner of Buttercup's now-empty stall. "You could have spoken up, but oh no, you had to keep on staying invisible."

"Sorry," the dragon says, sounding stuffed up and almost as awful as he currently looks. "I thought I'd be over this cold before it was time to come here. Not only is my inner ear all messed up, but I can't seem to cancel the glamor spell I cast to keep from spooking humans on my way here."

Which is how Jason ends up babying a miserable draconic ambassador back to health, just because he happens to have be one thirty-second elf and thus able to see the idiot. Eventually, the dragon—Tim, it turns out, because he's such a disappointment of a dragon that he doesn't even have a cool _name_ —gets better and is able to cancel the spell and take on the human form he _meant_ to show up in Gotham wearing. Thankfully, one of the first things he does is clear up the whole Unfortunate Demise of Buttercup fiasco, so at least Jason isn't stuck working off the cost of a thoroughbred for the rest of his days.

They don't see very much of each other, which is weird after spending two months nursing the scaly idiot back to health, but whatever. It's not like the lords and ladies of the castle ever venture into Jason's domain for any reason other than looking for a mount, and Tim is more likely to eat Jason's charges than ride them. All things considered, he doesn't expect to ever see the dragon again.

It's definitely a surprise when Tim—human size and shape this time—falls through the roof again, this time straight into Jason's arms, startling the mare he was in the middle of brushing. The horse rears and Jason is immediately stumbling backwards, wrapping an arm around Tim and maneuvering him out of kicking hooves.

"Don't do that again unless you what me to kiss you, dammit," Jason snaps.

"Uh."

It takes him a moment to realize his slip-up, and when he does he has to fight down a blush. " _Her_ to _kick_ you," he quickly corrects, but it's clear he's too late.

"I rather liked the first version," Tim says, smiling up at him, a little bit of fang peeking out from between soft-looking lips. "That's why I was coming over here, actually. The Amazonian ambassador said I had to stop moping around the castle and man up already. She threw me through the stable roof when I tried to slip away from her."

"Oh. That's. I." Jason swallows. "A-alright, then."

"Excellent," the dragon declares, pulling him down and sealing their lips together.

Jason does get back to the mare eventually, but it takes some time, and he manages to misplace the brush in the interim.

 

* * *

 

Tim shows up to the meeting ten minutes late, hair in disarray around his horns, tail switching in a languid, contented way when he strolls into the Council chamber. "Ambassador Drake, so kind of you to join us," King Bruce comments, and there's a twitch to his lips that means he's fighting off either a frown or a smile. With Bruce, it's sometimes anyone's guess.

"My apologies, your majesty. I had some pressing business to attend to first." Tim curls his tail around his waist and slides into an empty chair between Cassie and Bruce's odious third son.

"I see everything worked out despite your misgivings," the Amazon says in an undertone as the meeting resumes around them, some dull discussion of farm lands that Tim has little interest or investment in.

"So it did. Thank you, Cassie." Tim smiles at his friend, gently squeezing her hand in thanks before releasing it once more.

On his other side, Prince Damian leans in. "Disgraceful, Drake," he hisses. "You could at least _try_ to disguise the fact that you've been dallying with the help. You have _hay_ in your _hair_."

"You might try spending more time with the 'help,' Damian. It can do wonders for one's disposition, and stable hands in particular are prone to being long on stamina and strength."

The princeling splutters loudly enough that his father glances over with a frown and a reminder that, as third son, his inclusion is a privilege, not a right. When the king has turned his attention back to the large map he and the rest of the room are bent over, Tim pokes Damian in the thigh with the tip of his tail.

"What?" Damian asks, harsh and quiet at the same time.

"If you do decide to investigate the stables, you'll keep away from what I've laid claim to," Tim warns, a low growl rumbling under his words despite the soft tone he employs. "I _don't_ do sharing."

 

* * *

 

Several weeks later, Tim is lying in bed with his lover when he's reminded of his off-the-cuff comment. "The youngest prince has been sniffing around the stables as of late. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" the stable master queries, his fingers running along the ridges that protrude from Tim's spine, gently scratching where scales bleed into skin. 

Quickly slipping into a lovely, hazy state due to the pleasant sensations of Jason's ministrations, it takes Tim a few minutes to truly register the meaning of the question. "I may have said something about stable hands knowing how to handle themselves to the little snot when he implied I was slumming it," he acknowledges. "He hasn't tried anything with you, has he?" A rumble creeps into his voice, and he starts to rouse from his half-drowse, blue eyes flashing red.

"No, sweetheart," Jason reassures him, pressing firmly down Tim's shoulder blades. "He's set his sights on the most promising of my journeymen, which is worrying enough."

"I don't see why. Colin is a sweet boy, maybe he'll mellow out the brat some." That was Tim's original intent with the taunt, after all.

"Not all of you lordlings are free to romance where you like," Jason explains. "Prince Damian is betrothed to the second son of our nearest neighbor to the north, something that was arranged ages ago, when they were both still quite small. The stability of that realm is rather dependent on the match working out, since King Bruce's backing of Kal-El in the civil war was what leant his claim legitimacy."

"Listen to you, talking of alliances and stability. I should make you take my place on the Council, it's likely you'd have much more to contribute when it comes to domestic affairs than I ever do." Tim smiles at the man, his tail curling over to sidle up Jason's leg in an exploratory manner. Yes, he has chosen well for his mate. "Anyway, I don't see why it should matter if your prince has some fun. It isn't as if a child can result from the joining, seeing as how both of them are human."

Jason's hand stills in its wanderings. "Don't you mean neither of them is a woman?"

"Of course not. If women were necessary for making children, there wouldn't be nearly as many dragons about." Tim frowns, thinks for a moment. "Fewer elves as well."

"Wait—you don't mean—" Jason sounds more than a little panicked, so Tim takes the time to roll onto his back, easily pulling his lover on top of him.

"Hush, I won't be ready to make an egg for at least another decade or three, you have no cause to worry." Smiling, he twines his fingers in Jason's hair, tugging him down for a kiss. "I don't see any problem with practicing in the meantime, if you're willing to lend me a hand?"

Jason, as it turns out, is more than up to the task.

 

* * *

 

"We should probably do something about Colin and the prince," Jason says much, much later, because someone has to be responsible here, and it clearly isn't going to be Tim.

"I don't know why you're harping on this. Kandorians are known for being reasonable, and Jon's a sweetheart. He's more likely to insist on including Colin if Damian's honestly that fond of him than get upset over the matter." Tim roots around under the sheets, trying to find the robe he lost earlier. Gotham is unreasonably cold compared to the warmer climes he hails from, which doesn't bode well considering he has yet to adjust to spending so much time in his human form.

"Of course you know the Kandorians. Is there anyone in the upper echelons of the six realms that you _don't_ know?"

"I'm sorry if some of us are slightly longer lived than others," Tim says, not that he sounds the least bit apologetic. "And, as it happens, I've never been to Themiscyra. They aren't too fond of men, and while I'm technically not one in any sense of the word, they feel more comfortable with my cousin."

Right. Because Tim is the only living relative of the dragon queen. How the hell does Jason end up mixed up in these kinds of situations, anyway? "I suppose you have a lover in every realm by now," he jests, trying to keep his tone light. He isn't sure how successful he is, though, since Tim leaves off his search, turning to straddle Jason's chest and lay a hand against his cheek.

"Don't be silly, my gem. Just because I travel freely does not mean I'm free with myself, body or heart. I chose you because you have great potential, cunning wit, and a willingness to tell me when I'm wrong." He grins, tweaking one of Jason's nipples. "It also doesn't hurt that you're rather nice to look at, for a human."

"Oh, for a human." Jason rolls his eyes.

"Just wait until Stephanie and I finish the transmogrification spell we're working on," Tim says, his eyes dancing with delight as he leans in. "I'm sure you'll make a gorgeous dragon as well."

 

* * *

 

When the smoke clears, Jason is still standing in the palace garden, not feeling any different than he normally does. A quick check tells him he still has two hands, two feet, all of the normal shape. "I don't think it worked," he calls over his shoulder to where Stephanie and Tim are standing behind a small planter, anxiously watching. He's about to add more, when something long, thin, and red slaps him in the nose.

" _You_ said they were lark's teeth!" Tim snaps at the wizard. "They were clearly chicken teeth!"

"Well, I didn't think any of the apothecaries would have the gall to try and trick the king's Spell Master," Stephanie shoots back.

"I think the spell still did something," Jason says, nervously dodging another of the red things as it waves in front of his face and something tugs at his cheek. He would walk over there and try to get their attention, but now he's more than a little nervous about moving, just in case there are additional side-effects that he isn't yet aware of.

"You're only the _temporary_ Spell Master while Lady Barbara is busy studying in the draconic lands. I can't believe I trusted an _amateur_ with something as complicated as a transmogrification spell—I can't believe I trusted you with _Jason_!"

"Excuse me, but I am _just_ as much a master spellcaster as Lady Barbara, _Timothy_ , and anyway, even if they _were_ chicken teeth, it still should have worked. There's no magical difference between those and lark's teeth, everyone knows that. _You_ must've gotten the words wrong—you mumbled on the third line, and I'm pretty sure you used the wrong conjugation of 'to change.'"

"Hardly! Draconic is _my_ first language and I've been speaking it since before your father was even a twinkle in your grandsire's eye!" Tim exclaims, hopping up to stand perched on the edge of the short wall surrounding the planter, blue-white lightning crackling all around him.

"Guys!" Jason shouts, turning and taking a step towards them, then nearly tripping over the red tail that gets in his way. "It still did _something_!"

"Oh dear," Stephanie says, the ball of fire that was forming in her palm dissipating into nothing. "You have _whiskers_."

"Is that what they are? They keep trying to poke my eyes out." He bats at the red tendrils around his face again, trying to get them to behave.

"Oh my," Tim says softly, leaping down off the planter and bounding over. " _Jason_. Those are quite…" Standing on his tiptoes, he reaches out, and several of the whiskers gently twine themselves around the dragon's fingers, grasping them firmly. "Oh _my_." A faint blush spreads across his cheeks, reaching all the way to the silvery-blue scales that frame his face.

"What? What is it?" Jason demands, staying perfectly still as his whiskers don't seem the least bit eager to let go of Tim's hand.

"See?" Stephanie, just a step or two behind Tim, holds up a hand mirror. "Whiskers. Though they don't really behave like any whiskers _I've_ ever seen."

Jason takes the mirror and stares in horror at his reflection. Eight long, red whiskers now sprout from his cheeks, four on each side. There's a smattering of red scales where they connect to him, bleeding into black as they near his hairline. His ears have turned black and scaly as well, growing more pointed than ever and gaining some kind of odd, feathered ruff along the edges. "Tim," he says, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible. "You said this was a perfectly safe spell. That dragons have been casting it on non-dragons without issue for many millennia."

"I think there may have been a problem with the ginger root. It's possible it came from the far eastern mountains, so you're taking on the characteristics of the draconic tribes native to those parts," Tim says vaguely, apparently still quite mesmerized by the gently waving movement of the whiskers.

Jason wrinkles his nose. "It looks like I've got a squid on my face."

Stephanie circles them, studying Jason's shirtless back and humming as she pointedly ignores Tim's quiet, possessive growls. "You've got something like a mane all down your spine instead of ridges like Tim. Still black, though, so there's that. And your horns look more like antlers than anything else." Coming back around to the front, she rocks on her heels. "Looks like the spell changed you into a dragon's humanoid form instead of a full dragon like it was supposed to. Changing you back to normal should be a simple enough thing, though."

"Oh, I don't think so." Tim tugs his fingers free from the whiskers and reaches down to grasp Jason's tail, wrapping the end of it around his arm. "This _is_ an unexpected result. It should be thoroughly investigated before we cancel it. Come, my gem," he says, a dangerous and familiar spark in his eyes, "I'd much rather any explorations of you be done in private. It seems to me those whiskers of yours could prove _quite_ useful for certain tasks."

"I don't know. If this isn't the result you expected, wouldn't it be best to fix it sooner rather than later?" Jason asks, stumbling after his lover.

"I'll keep an eye on you the entire time, you'll be fine," Tim reassures him. "Now come _on_. Easterly dragons are supposed to be very adept with their tongues and I want to see if you gained more than just a superficial resemblance."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes diplomats have to go do diplomacy? Ugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to note that this doesn't count as a WIP because it's 2/2 chapters. Yes. >.> ~~That said, those who are interested in reading more about this ridiculousness may want to subscribe to the story.~~

It doesn't take Jason too long to learn that the thing about having a dragon for a lover is that sometimes they get hung up on the weirdest things. Like, for example, their need to be the biggest thing in the room and getting rather upset when it's pointed out to them that sometimes they're, well. Not.

"I'm quite a respectable size for my age, I'll have you know," Tim says, frowning up at Jason.

"Not like this," Jason insists. "You're smaller than me when you're in this form."

"I'm still bigger than you where it counts," Tim rumbles, punctuating the statement with a roll of his hips. Jason gasps and shudders, the flush already painting his bare chest spreading a little further. "I believe you've noticed that."

"It's rather hard to ignore," Jason acknowledges before giving up speaking entirely on the basis that it requires too much effort on his part.

Dragons may get hung up on weird shit at times, but he's also learning that they sure as hell make up for it in other areas.

 

* * *

 

One of the mares is carrying, and Tim can't seem to stop giving her apprehensive looks whenever he happens to stop by the stables to visit Jason.

"I'm waiting for my cousin's egg to hatch before I make one of my own," Tim blurts out on the third day of his odd behavior. "She's only queen because she's got an egg. If I lay one and it hatches before hers, I'll have to lead the dragons."

Relieved to finally have an explanation for the dragon's skittishness, Jason pauses in his careful currying to reach back and give one of those slightly scaly hands a reassuring squeeze. "But she's older," he says with a frown once he's processed Tim's words. He really doesn't know all that much about draconic customs, even if he is regularly finding himself in the bed of one of their royal family these days.

"Doesn't mean a thing with dragons. We mostly die from injury or illness, very rarely old age. We're such a long-lived race that age doesn't really matter all that much after the first century, though some of the _really_ old geezers would have you believe otherwise." Tim reaches out, tentatively touching the heavy belly of the mare Jason's tending to. "The crown is passed to the member of the royal line with the most heirs at the time of the previous monarch's passing. When there aren't any candidates with heirs, the duties are shared equally between all who could potentially inherit the position until such time that one of them produces an heir."

"That sounds… complicated. Still, if she's already got an egg, I would think you can safely say that hers will hatch before any you happen to make at some future date?" Jason suggests as he gives the horse a soothing stroke.

Tim groans, half flopping against Jason's back, sharp chin digging into muscle. "Dragon eggs are extra-finicky. All kinds of things can change the length of the brooding period—the weather, the temperament of the parent, the nature of dragonet, even the position of the stars in the sky. Dinah's been brooding hers for nearly sixteen months now, but I could theoretically lay an egg today and have it hatch in just a few months while hers waits another year or three."

"But you're not going to lay one any time soon, right? Because you're waiting for her egg to hatch?" Jason doesn't mean to sound panicked, but the prospect of possibly ending up the consort of the leader of the dragons is terrifying. He's happy with his life as it currently stands, and unlike some members of the court, has absolutely no desire to try and climb ranks.

"Not as long as we continue to exercise caution in our private explorations," Tim quickly reassures him, apparently stretching up on his tiptoes as the words are spoken against Jason's neck. "As I said, I have no desire to take over the throne. I had my fill of ruling when Dinah and I were forced to corule after my father's death."

"Most lords and ladies seem only too eager to grab and hold onto power." The majority of the diplomats seem alright, but Jason's heard his share of the kind of things Gotham's aristocracy will talk about when they think no one (or at least, no one of any import) is listening. He tries to keep the crown prince apprised of any truly heinous plots he overhears, but on the whole it's left him with a very poor opinion of most of the upper class.

"Ugh, no. It's bad enough being stuck with diplomatic duties, like hell I want the responsibility of a whole _realm_ on my shoulders. That would be— _was_ —exhausting and entirely too stressful for my tastes. I'd probably end up like my dad and burn out after only a couple centuries."

"That's reassuring," Jason says, reaching back to give his waist a squeeze. "Since I rather like you in your current position."

"Oh really, now? Are you quite certain about that?" Tim rumbles, pressing flush against Jason's back. "Because I can think of any number of other positions that you'd appreciate a lot more."

"Well, Ambassador Drake, you can't just say that and leave me hanging," he tells him, turning in Tim's arm's and flashing a crooked smile as he grabs slim hips and pulls him close once more. "Time to back up your argument with some proof."

 

* * *

 

"It can't have been ten years already," Tim is saying when Jason pushes open the door to his office. Sounds like Tim's meetings have run long again and he's completely forgotten he told Jason to meet him for lunch.

"Master Todd. Can we help you?" the king asks, and Jason blanches. Not just the king, but both the Amazonian and Metropolitan ambassadors as well, yikes.

"Ah, no. I'll come back later, sorry, I didn't mean to intrude," Jason babbles, quickly backing out of the room and into Prince Damian, who apparently arrived while he was busy making a fool out of himself in front of some of the most powerful people in the land.

"Watch it, you oaf," the prince sneers, raising a hand as if to strike him.

"Damian," King Bruce says, a hint of warning in his tone. A low growl has filled the space, and Jason gulps as he glances over to where Tim is standing, eyes red and tail lashing violently while small strands of lightning dance between the twin tips of his horns.

"I should have been more polite in my reprimand," the prince says, warily watching the dragon. "My apologies."

"It's fine," Jason says, his eyes still fixed on Tim. "I wasn't watching where I was going, your highness."

"Tim?" the Amazon asks, reaching out but not quite touching Tim's arm.

Red recedes back into blue-grey as Tim breathes in deeply, then forces a smile that looks significantly sharper than usual. "Prince Damian. How kind of you to join us at last."

With a gulp, Jason quickly steps around the prince and flees. Much as he adores Tim, he knows better than to stick around an irritated dragon, even when he's not the target of that dragon's ire.

 

* * *

 

"Sorry about that, before," Tim says, sounding more than a little exhausted when he tracks down Jason outside stables later. Lunch came and went several hours ago but this is the first Jason's seen of him since their earlier encounter. "I was already on edge and when that little snot looked ready to lay hands on you—"

"I would have been fine," Jason protests, stepping forward to run a hand down the ridges along his back. "Prince Damian may finally be gaining his height, but I still have a few inches on him. And besides, the kid knows better than to strike any of the castle staff where his father can see."

It's apparently the wrong thing to say, since rather than reassure Tim, he starts growling again. "Do you mean to say he's hurt you in the past? I ought to've—"

" _Please_ don't electrocute the prince in a misplaced attempt to defend my honor," Jason pleads. "It really isn't necessary and the last thing you need to do is start an international incident. Besides, I think he's due for his biennial visit to his mother, and you _really_ don't want to upset her."

Tim groans, slumping against his chest. "Ugh, I _know_ , what do you think that whole blasted meeting was about? Apparently it's the dragons' turn to check in on the Shadow Lands and make sure Ra's is playing by the rules of the treaty, which means it's _my_ turn because the lech refuses to deal with any other dragon."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"The Fulmen Accord—you know, the thing that says Ra's has to keep his machinations to the Shadow Lands."

"Isn't the basis of that treaty a strong curse that'll cause him to burst into flames if he ever leaves his own lands?" At least, that was how it was explained to Jason when he learned about it as part of his schooling.

"Eh. It's less a curse and more a nanny spell that lets me know where he is at all times," Tim says with a shrug. "I'm definitely roasting his undead ass if he ever sets even one toe outside the Shadow Lands. Creep."

"Well, that's reassuring, though I don't see why would the spell specifically inform you of all people."

Glancing up through half-lowered lashes, Tim smiles a rather toothy smile. "I like to keep an eye on my projects, for one. Just who do you think tricked Ra's into putting his seal on that treaty in the first place? Not that it took any great trickery on my part—I didn't have to do much more than flash the freak a bit of tail before he was falling over himself to sign anything I put in front of him, all in the hopes of seeing a little more. Of course, it also bit me in the ass—you get creative _one time_ with a restraining order and then suddenly everyone thinks you're some kind of diplomatic genius."

Jason frowns. Sure, Tim's the possessive one in this relationship, but he's not sure how he feels about his lover engaging in flirtations even if it _is_ in the name of securing a favorable peace treaty. Which is another thing that's bothering him, actually. "But that treaty was drafted hundreds of years ago? How could you have possibly been a part of the original talks?"

Tim laughs, throwing his arms around Jason's neck to tug him down even as he lifts himself up on his tiptoes so they can see one another eye-to-eye. "Oh, my gem, you really do flatter me sometimes. I know I said age doesn't matter to my kind, but it's still rather sweet of you to think I'm still in my first century."

"Wait. Just how old _are_ you?" Jason demands, not yet ready to let this go and allow himself to be drawn into a rather tempting kiss.

"Old enough to know to take my pleasure where I find it and not waste time on frivolous things like talk when we're about to be separated for a month or more," Tim grumbles. "Come on. Let's make a few new memories to help keep me company in Ra's's dreary domain."

Jason means to resist and find out more—he isn't keen on him visiting the Shadow Lands no matter how many years of experience he may have tucked away—but Tim produces a rather strong argument against further discussion on the matter and he finds himself hard pressed to come up with some means to counter such impeccable logic.

 

* * *

 

Before leaving, Tim digs an expensive-looking amulet out of his pocket and gestures for Jason to lean down. "This should help keep you safe while I'm away, and Stephanie's promised to keep an eye on you as well."

"I don't need a minder, Tim. I'm a grown man, I looked after myself for years before I ever met you." Still, he ducks his head and allows the slender chain to be fastened around his neck. Once it's settled, Jason picks it up and examines it. "Is this one of yours?" he asks, poking the wicked-looking tooth set in the center of the gold filigree.

"Yes, one of my baby teeth, that's why it's so small. Jason, it's important that you to keep that on the entire time I'm gone. Ra's's movements are restricted by the curse at the moment, but he's not above sending assassins after those who he views as a threats. As long as they don't use magic to carry out their missions, it's not in violation of the treaty."

Jason snorts, letting go of the amulet to cup Tim's jaw, stoking one of those scaly cheeks with his thumb. "Sweetheart, I know you think the world of me, but I'm honestly just a stable master. I have no grand designs of power and I'm no threat to any ruler."

"Ra's has the mistaken idea that I'm his just because I forced him into our current stalemate. It has not gone well for my lovers in the past," Tim confesses, turning his head to press his lips to Jason's palm. "Being a simple human, you are lacking much of the protections your predecessors possessed, and I will not have your death on my conscience. Besides, I'd be awfully put out if anything happened to you."

"Oh you would, would you?"

"I've got you all trained just the way I like you. Plus, you're awfully good to snuggle with in bed," Tim says, a wicked light dancing in his eyes as he delicately licks up a finger.

Jason shudders, leaning in to kiss his dragon soundly. "I've grown pretty fond of you as well. I'll wear the amulet and check in with Master Stephanie, but only if you promise to do the same. I know you two have been working out scrying spells for the past month in between other things, and I expect you to make use of all that knowledge."

"You know she has to be in the room to keep the spell going, right? No private conversations to be had," Tim says, sounding more than a little breathless, a faint flush spreading across the parts of his cheeks that aren't silver-blue.

"And I care for you for more reasons than just what you can do between the sheets," Jason gently reminds him. "I want to know you're keeping safe and sound."

"Yes, alright."

 

* * *

 

Once everyone has shuffled back to the edge of the courtyard in preparation for Tim's transformation, he leans in next to Damian who stands slightly closer with their luggage. "You will not, under any circumstances, mention Jason at any time while we are in your grandfather's lands," he warns.

"Why on earth would I feel the need to talk about the trash you choose to warm your bed with?"

Tim growls, grabbing the front of the princeling's tunic and yanking him close, claws lightly pricking the fine fabric. "You will not mention Jason, because doing so will bring him to Ra's's notice and could very well cost him his life. You will not do anything to jeopardize his well-being because if you do, I will become very, very angry, and I may accidentally lash out at some innocent bystander in my rage when we return. Like, perhaps, that stableboy you're so taken with."

The blood drains from Damian's face and he goes pale under his tanned skin. "You wouldn't. Colin has done nothing, he hardly deserves—"

"You will do as I ask and follow every order I give you for the entirety of this trip or else I cannot guarantee the safety of the people of this kingdom, yourself included," Tim snaps. He gives Damian one final, vicious shake, then releases him. "Do we understand one another, highness?"

Damian's eyes dart to the side to pick out the gangly redhead standing beside Tim's dearest treasure, and he gulps. "Yes, Ambassador Drake."

"Good." Tim quickly strips down to just a loin cloth, draping his formal finery in the prince's arms, then backs away several feet. Taking a deep breath, he turns his attention inwards and grabs the twist of magic in his core, picking free the knot he's tied it in so that his true self may unravel.

It always feels wonderful, doing this. Like finally shucking off a too-tight garment. If he weren't concerned about damaging things (well, mostly damaging Jason), he'd remain like this all the time, local customs be damned.

Lifting his head, he sniffs the air, taking in the currents and gauging the weather patterns. It's easier to detect such things in this form, without the trappings of humanity to dull his senses. Not that his other form doesn't have its own advantages—once again, Tim's attention strays back to his gem. A thrill of delight wells up inside him when he sees that, unlike most of the rest of the court, Jason has taken a step forward, the air around him tasting of excitement and anticipation. It is always satisfying when his chosen lover finds his natural form just as fascinating as his other one.

"I hope you don't get air sick," Tim says, turning his attention back to the much-diminished prince beside him. "I have no intention of stopping for any queasy stomachs, no matter how loudly you whinge."

"But—the harness—shan't I be guiding you?" Damian asks, glancing over at the complex leather contraption Jason and Colin are sorting out between them and will be helping Tim into shortly.

He laughs, a deep, rolling boom that shakes the stones under their feet. "That's to strap on our luggage. You, I carry." He lifts one great hand and flexes his fingers, admiring the razor-sharp claws as they glint in the morning sun.

If possible, the prince goes even paler.

 

* * *

 

Jason leans in to adjust the last of the straps spanning silvery-blue hide, and is nearly bowled over when a huge head presses into his space. "Hey, careful there."

"It tickles. I don't like it."

"Of course it tickles, I haven't finished tightening it yet. Just let me know if it pinches you anywhere, alright?'

"Of course, my gem." The dragon hums happily, nuzzling his cheek.

"H-hey, stop. Everyone is watching," Jason hisses, fumbling a buckle and having to start all over again, threading in the strap. "Can't you be professional for once?"

"But I won't see you for ages," Tim whines, pressing in again. "Plus your ears have turned a very cute pink." A long tongue flicks out, tickling the pointed tip of one of Jason's ears. "You can't expect me to resist that."

"Ugh, Drake, show some decorum for once in your life," Prince Damian snaps. He's standing off to the side, oddly quiet for once. Normally, he would have complained many times over about Tim's behavior by now.

"I don't see why I have to follow the prudish rules of your land while I'm here," Tim grumbles, but he backs off some, letting his head fall to the ground. He rather looks like he's sulking, but far be it from Jason to point that out.

"It's sort of what's expected of a diplomat," Jason reminds him, stroking his flank reassuringly. "There, I think that's all of them. We'll move out of the way and then you can give yourself a shake, make sure everything's secure and feels right."

Tim lets out a soft whine when Jason steps back, his head briefly swinging to follow the stable master, but he behaves himself and doesn't move from his spot in the center of the courtyard.

"Disgraceful," Prince Damian says, his lips drawing back in a sneer.

"You should be more grateful," Colin remarks, looking more than a little shocked at himself for speaking out against his prince. Straightening his shoulders, he blunders on. "Ambassador Drake is saving you a long and arduous trip. It's a three-week journey by horseback to the Shadow Lands."

"I don't see why I can't ride on his back with the luggage. It wouldn't be that difficult to devise a sort of saddle."

"If you can't understand why he's insisting on carrying you, you clearly didn't pay close enough attention when you were supposed to be learning about foreign customs," Jason says, his eyes focused on Tim, who's currently leaping and prancing about as much as he's able in the confines of the courtyard. "It's a great insult to ride on a dragon's back. As it is, it's very rare that they agree to even carry someone, so you're really quite lucky."

"If he refuses to follow our customs, I see little reason why I should—"

Whatever rude statement he no doubt intends to make is interrupted by a head the size of wheelbarrow thudding down in their midst. "Fits like a dream," Tim announces. "Just as good as anything the royal tailors back home might make for me. Thank you, my gem." His long tongue flicks out, swiping across Jason's cheek in a rather unorthodox kiss.

"You're sure there's nothing chafing you?" he asks as he moves to check the straps again.

"Positive," Tim says, gently raising a foreleg to hold Jason back. "It'll be fine, stop worrying."

Jason sighs and turns to wrap his arms around that huge head. "I can't help but worry. As you said, you'll be gone for more than a month. And you're going to the Shadow Lands—the stories you hear about that place..." He shudders and presses his face into warm hide.

"Hush, now. It's nothing I haven't done before. Ra's al Ghul may be wily, but remember that I'm the one who trapped him there in the first place. I know not to fall for his tricks, and I'll keep a close eye on your princeling."

"I know, but I can't help but worry. It's how this sort of thing works."

"What, traveling?" Tim snorts, small puffs of steam rising from his nostrils.

"No, idiot. Love."

 

* * *

 

Ra's al Ghul is just as much of a creep as Tim remembers, but the situation turns out to be not quite as unpleasant as previous visits have been, thanks to an unexpected ally.

Despite Damian's complaints on the flight over, the prince is clearly disturbed by his grandfather's obvious fascination with the draconic ambassador. Tim isn't sure if it's because the boy is unaware of the fact that he and Ra's are close to the same age, or simply the disturbing manner in which the old lich attempts seduction _—_ whatever it is, he's hardly going to complain.

"I have had your usual suite of rooms prepared for your arrival," Ra's says as he guides them inside the palace, walking much closer to him than is either necessary or proper.

"A waste of time. I will be joining Prince Damian in his rooms during my stay this time, at the request of his father." Back in Gotham, this was one of the many things that was decided in that long, incredibly boring meeting that Tim really didn't need to attend. Everyone else always thinks they know a better way of dealing with Ra's, one that will trick him into even more missteps. Having been responsible for Ra's's biggest mistake so far, Tim knows it's highly unlikely the lich will ever fall for similar tactics again.

"Oh? I had not realized you and my grandson were so well acquainted."

"I have been assigned to Gotham for nearly a year now. The prince and I have grown rather… _attached_ to one another in that time." He steps away from Ra's and takes up Damian's hand. When the boy tries to pull free, Tim simply squeezes the hand more tightly in his own.

The suite assigned to Damian is not nearly as large and luxurious as that which Tim usually stays in, which suits him fine. He's slept in a wide range of beds of varying size and quality over the centuries and he usually finds the ostentatious display of wealth that Ra's insists on tacky and distasteful. Sure, he has a fondness for jewels like all of his kind, but a ruby-encrusted bathtub is just _absurd_.

"You're quite sure you wouldn't rather stay in your usual suite? Arrangements could be made to accommodate my grandson there as well," Ra's prods while the servants rush about, unloading their luggage.

"This is quite cozy, and Prince Damian would much rather stay within easy reach of his mother. It is she he has come to visit with, after all." Tim is quite certain Ra's has all kinds of peep holes and passageways into the other suite. If anything, he's grateful to finally have an excuse to stay elsewhere.

Ra's tries to linger after that, but Tim claims a headache and Damian stiffly requests that they be left alone to rest before dinner. The old man is reluctant to leave, but eventually the door closes on the last of him and his servants.

Finally alone, Damian immediately rounds on him. "Why did you do that? Now he's sure to think that _I'm_ the one in your bed at night!"

"I know. I'm rather proud of that one, I don't know why it didn't occur to me sooner." Tim's positively tickled pink by the prospect of what sort of avenues such an assumption could open up for him.

"You _meant_ to imply such a thing? Were you not concerned only the other day that he might take retribution on—on any you might appear overly fond of?"

"Well, yes. But the important thing to remember here is that your grandfather is more interested in my body than myself. I'm sure you're aware of the fact that he's spent much of his abnormally long existence developing ways to transfer the consciousness of one living being into another. While I don't doubt he'd love to get me in bed with him, he'd also very much like to have a draconic body for himself—either mine, or someone else's," Tim explains.

"I fail to see what that has to do with the charade that you and I are—that we're—!" Damian splutters, clearly unable to say the words.

"He is also an overly prideful man, believing his blood and that of his kin superior to all others. Why steal my body for his own when I have taken his grandson as a lover? Should you and I produce an egg together, the resulting offspring would be as powerful as any dragon while at the same time possessing the perceived advantages of his family line."

"You have turned me into a stud stallion for your machinations," the boy accuses, disgust evident on his face.

"Hardly. I have given Ra's a very good reason to leave you alone for the foreseeable future," Tim explains as he easily carries his own luggage to a nearby armoire and begins unpacking it. "Or have you forgotten why your mother chose to send you away in the first place? Even for a lich, your grandfather grows old and has begun to waste away. I am not the only one he has contemplated wearing as suit when this body at last fails him."

Damian clenches his hands but does not argue this point. It is, after all, the very reason why King Bruce insisted they take so many precautions for a visit that should be a simple one of filial obligation. "Fine," he says after several long minutes pass. "But we will _not_ be sharing the bed."

Tim laughs. "Trust me when I say you are more than welcome to it. After all, why in the world should I spend the night in this form when there is no good reason to? Particularly when it is so much easier to keep assassins out by simply blocking both the door and the windows with my entire self?"

"I thought the point of this charade was to discourage Grandfather from attempting to harm either one of us?"

"Oh, certainly. But he's hardly going to stop sending assassins because of perceived love affair. There are, after all, appearances to keep up."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, there was no way this whole relationship was going to happen without at least _some_ drama.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what happens next in this, so don't go expecting another update anytime soon ~~if ever~~.

_"You need to come back. Sooner rather than later,"_ Stephanie says, her voice wavering as the image of her wavers in the water.

"Just a minute." Tim steps away from the bowl and strides across the room, grabbing Damian by the scruff of his tunic and lifting him off the floor. "I told you that I needed silence and calm for the scrying spell. You can practice your sword work later."

"I don't see why I can't just practice in the training yard along with the warriors," the boy growls, struggling to break free of the hold and failing miserably.

"Because I promised your father I wouldn't let you out of my sight the entire time we're here, and I have no intention of being called an oathbreaker. If you can't practice _quietly_ and with _minimum leaping_ , you can just sit still." He tosses the boy on the pile of cushions in the corner, then stalks back to the bowl. "Sorry about that, had to fix the connection. You were saying?"

 _"Finish up your business there as quickly as you can. You have to come back as soon as possible, there's been a… development,"_ Stephanie says.

"Curse-renewal is delicate business, and Talia wants Damian to stay for another week, at least. Are you sure this isn't something I can walk you through from here?"

 _"Scrying isn't exactly the most private means of communication."_ The tiny image of Stephanie bites her lip and glances back over her shoulder. _"Trust me when I say that you wouldn't forgive yourself if you waited too long and—and something happened."_

The way she's dancing around the subject, refusing to name specifics—something seizes in Tim's heart, and all other thoughts go fluttering from his mind as horrible possibility after horrible possibility starts marching through instead. "Is it—is there something wrong with the Kandorian trade treatise ?" A simple code they worked out before he left and the closest he dares get to referencing Jason as long as he's here, in the heart of Ra's's stronghold.

_"Like I said, there's been a development. It's not exactly a bad one per se, but it is… concerning. I'm concerned. You should come back. As soon as possible."_

"Right, yes. Everything here can be finished up in three days, at most. I'll see you next week," he says, his mind already rushing, listing everything that still needs doing to renew the curse keeping Ra's tied to his lands. He can't rush it, but he can certainly organize the tasks in a way that will better prioritize his time. "Thank you, Stephanie. For letting me know."

 _"Of course,"_ she assures him, her image already flickering as she readies to break the scry. _"I know you would do the same for me."_

 

* * *

 

Damian protests leaving early, which Tim takes to mean that the change in schedule is definitely a good thing. He's fairly certain King Bruce isn't eager to have his youngest become too attached to the al Ghul side of his heritage, certainly not with the amount of shady necromanic practices that family is known to engage in. And, of course, the whole body-stealing business.

"Hush. We're leaving tomorrow and that's that," Tim snaps when the boy tries to restart the argument _again_. "Your father allows these visits as a courtesy to your mother. He is completely in his rights to forbid them completely."

"I don't see why _I_ have to leave on _your_ whim. You are the one with business back in Gotham—not even official business, just more of your silly fixation with—" He breaks off with a squeak, his words silenced possibly out of surprise, but more likely because of the fact that Tim has just lifted him up off the floor with a single hand.

"You will not speak of that," Tim growls. "Or have you forgotten what will happen if you do?"

The boy chokes and claws ineffectively at the hand around his throat, acting for all the world like he's actually being hurt, which is of course ridiculous. Tim is perfectly cognizant of just how much strain the average human body is capable of withstanding, and he's hardly come close to it. "I will not let you down until you agree to abide by the rules I set down at the start of this journey."

The struggles cease and, with a glare that no doubt bends the wills of lesser men, Damian gives the slightest nod of his head. Satisfied, Tim sets him down and returns to his packing.

"You're insane."

"No, just much older and wiser than you and all too aware of what the people of this world are capable of."

Damian plods over to deposit himself on a cushion next to Tim. "I do not understand. You have all this power within you, and yet you allow yourself to be _distracted_ by… frivolous things."

"Just because something cannot wreak great destruction upon the world does not make it frivolous. And even the most ferocious beast can enjoy the finer things in life." He doesn't really care if Damian understands his attraction to Jason, but he supposes there are certain life lessons it couldn't hurt to start the boy on the path towards learning. "Besides, just because one possesses the ability to subjugate doesn't mean one should. Honestly, ruling is a lot of fuss and bother, you're quite lucky that your people follow the practice of primogeniture and you have older siblings."

Damian opens his mouth to say something, then stops, and Tim can almost see the wheels turning in his head. No doubt it's finally occurred to the boy that he's not the only prince in this room and that, had he desired, Tim could have easily become the ruler of the dragons. "Do you find it that repellent?" he finally asks. "Being responsible for the governance of an entire realm?"

"More like tedious and exhausting. I'm at my finest strategizing or fighting, these are the fields in which I excel. Just because I am the child of a king does not make me a fit ruler any more than your brother not being your father's natural-born son make him any less of an adept and resourceful leader. We are more than our antecedents, Damian—both the good and the bad."

"That is… a fair point, I suppose."

"Now, are you going to pack, or do you intend to leave all your belongings here? I can fit one more satchel than what you brought with you in the harness. As long as it is not excessively large or heavy, you may take home some of the gifts showered upon you by your mother's family. Though, of course, I will need to give them all one final check for unfriendly magics."

Nodding slowly, Damian rises and moves over to his own corner of the suite, pulling out the satchel he brought with him and beginning the tedious process of repacking.

 

* * *

 

Jason isn't waiting with the others when Tim touches down in the palace courtyard, which sets off enough warning bells in his head that he can barely stay still long enough for the luggage to be unloaded and Colin to divest him of the harness. As soon as the last buckle is unclasp, he's shrinking down to his more human form, hardly noticing the cloak the stable boy quickly throws around his shoulders in an effort to preserve his modesty.

"Where is he?"

"With the Spell Master in her workroom." Colin takes a step or two back, likely to avoid the small sparks of lightning that he's making no effort to try and rein in or control at the moment. "He's honestly fine, Ambassador—!" the boy cries out, trying to catch Tim's arm, but he can't truly believe that, not until he sees his mate with his own eyes.

He has the presence of mind to keep the cloak closed as he hurries through the corridors of the palace, but it's more because he does not wish to do anything to shame Jason in front of his people than because he gives one whit about human rules of propriety. The only reason he bothered changing forms at all was so he could fit inside the building and, if he's truthful with himself, he likely would have been just as happy to remain in his true form and simply rip the roof off Stephanie's workroom if it meant reaching his goal sooner. Of course, that would also no doubt earn him the Spell Master's ire, and it's best to avoid that at all costs as long as Jason's well-being remains in jeopardy.

It takes far too long to reach the tower room used by the Stephanie, but when he finally does, the door is open and the woman herself is standing there. "Felt the ground shake with your landing, so I figured we'd be—"

He doesn't pay her words any mind, pushing past to home in on where his mate sits on the other end of the room, paging through a book. "Tim! Stephanie said you were back, but I thought for sure it wouldn't be until tomorrow at the earliest," Jason says, carefully setting the book to the side as he begins to rise.

"No, stay seated, my gem," Tim insists, falling to his knees before him and running careful hands all over, whispering analysis spells that will surely determine his lover's ailment. "You must conserve your strength as you battle to regain your health."

"Regain my—? Stephanie, what the hell did you tell him?" Jason demands, sounding more than a little annoyed, which doesn't seem right, not if he's been struck down by some magical illness or poison that Ra's has concocted.

"I couldn't say much because there was a good chance Ra's was eavesdropping on the scry, so I just said there was development with a Kandorian trade treatise."

"A simple code we worked out before I left. You, of course, are the trade treatise, and 'complication' means an illness or other medical emergency, such as poison or injury. Had she said there was a delay, it would mean you'd been kidnapped or were otherwise missing, a request for another meeting between delegates would signify an unsuccessful attack on you, and a complete breakdown of talks would mean you were dead."

Stephanie shuts the door and quickly casts spells so none may eavesdrop on them through either mundane or magical means. This done, she moves closer so as to stand next to them. "Don't worry, I wasn't actually going to tell him if it was the last one. Last thing we needed was a powerful dragon lord rampaging across the lands, stirring up trouble."

"Stephanie, you _promised_ you would look after him when I left," Tim whinges, feeling more than a little betrayed by her admission.

"Crossed my fingers. Also, I never used any of those—I very distinctly remember saying that there was a 'development.'"

Tim waves a hand dismissively. "I figured you'd forgotten the code." Much as he loves his mate, he does realize that humans aren't the always the brightest of species, after all. "And you said it was very _concerning_. That you were _concerned_."

"Ugh. I told her it wasn't a big enough deal to even bother you with," Jason grumbles, gently pushes Tim back. "We're not quite sure what it is. I mean, _I_ think it's a bit of a paunch, but Master Healer Thompkins has this crazy theory it might be a magic-resistant tumor."

Tim's back goes stiff and he immediately leans in to run his hands over his mate. "Excuse me, a _what_?"

"Magic-resistant tumor," Stephanie says, boosting herself up to sit on her worktable, idly kicking her legs like this isn't something completely horrible. Meanwhile, Jason takes Tim's hand and guides it over to press against his lower belly. There, just above his hips, is a lump. It's barely there, only truly shows when it's pressed, and even then it mostly just feels like a slightly firmer spot.

Tim's mouth goes dry. "A tight muscle, how strange," he says, a hint of hysteria creeping into his voice. "Hardly something to worry over."

"You know that's not a muscle," Stephanie says. "There are no muscles of that size or shape in that location."

"It was squishier before, only started to firm up a bit in the last day or so," Jason is quick to add. "It was when it firmed that Master Thompkins began talking nonsense about a tumor."

"Can't be sure, of course—we don't get many elves passing through Gotham so we aren't too hot on how they're put together, and it really doesn't help when we can't scry inside to see the how the what's-it is put together. Might be some odd elf organ that's only just now developing." Stephanie leers at Jason, an absolutely filthy expression that has Tim's hackles rising and small sparks breaking free of his horns. "Considering the placement, could be you're about to grow something that will double your fun between the sheets."

Jason glares at her. " _Not_ the time for jokes, Brown. I'm pretty sure elves are basically put together the same as humans; they aren't about to suddenly grow an extra cock or something out of the blue." He shoots Tim a nervous glance. "Right?"

"Not that I know of, but then I've gone out of my way to avoid taking elves to bed on account of the fact that they're highly compatible with dragons when it comes to fertility," Tim admits. Not that he'd _mind_ if Jason grew something more between his legs, but knowing the way his luck goes, it's doubtful this is anything near so pleasant. "Though I don't see how elves are at all relevant in this situation?"

"Well, Jason _technically_ isn't completely human," Stephanie offers. "And, hate to break it to you, but when I scryed his insides trying to figure out what this could be after Master Thompkins was at a loss, there were a few... unexpected organs in there."

"Not completely human?" Tim stares at his gem. "What."

"I'm one thirty-second elf." Jason shrugs a shoulder. "Or did you think all humans have ears as pointy as mine?"

Settling back on his heels, Tim considers this. Yes, Jason's ears are a particularly lovely shape, quite close to his own when in his humanoid form. Still, it never really occurred to him before that it it's not a shape typical to humans. A quick glance at Stephanie confirms that hers are rather puny and small, nothing near as attractive as his mate's.

Of course, Jason being part elf presents another possibility, one he would _really_ rather not think about. Not that one thirty-second elf should even matter in regards to _that_ , but still… Tim gulps. Reaching out his magic, he begins tentatively probing the whatever-it-is.

"I wouldn't bother if I were you. It's resisted everything Master Thompkins and I have thrown at it," Stephanie remarks, hopping off the table and walking over to watch.

"Well, yes. A lot of things can slip past human magic. Draconic magic is a bit harder to escape." He wraps his magic around the mysterious what's-it that has the _gall_ to make its home in his mate and starts running diagnostics.

It pings the second one he tries, shocking him so badly he loses his balance. He barely even notices when he half-crushes his tail under himself falling down, it's so unexpected.

"Tim? You alright there?" Jason asks, leaning forward and offering him a hand up.

"I think you must have a bit more elf in you than you thought," Tim says slowly. "I mean. That's the only possible explanation? It's like I said, it might've been different if you were female, but human males just aren't capable of carrying and you should have lost all the proper parts when the transmogrification spell ended."

"Wait, wait, _wait_ ," Jason says, sitting up straight. " _You_ said it was impossible. That's the only reason I agreed to your 'explorations' when the spell went sideways."

"It _is_ impossible! You lost the parts when the spell finished, there shouldn't be any place for it to develop." Tim doesn't _want_ to sound like he's wailing, but he has the awful feeling that he is, just like a child who isn't getting what they want. It's embarrassing, but at the same time, this entire thing shouldn't even be _happening_.

"Hold on, are you saying this thing is a _dragon egg_?" Stephanie asks, sounding absolutely delighted at the prospect.

"Stuff it, Stephanie. This is _not_ a good thing," Jason snaps. "Fuck."

"I don't see why you're so worried," Tim grumbles. "All you have to do is nurture it until it's ready to come out and then you're done."

"But I don't have the right equipment now—how the hell are we going to get it _out_?" Jason demands, sounding more than a little panicked. "I mean, even it if I somehow have a place for it to grow, that space isn't exactly hooked up to an exit."

"Oh, that's the simple part, actually. We just cast the transmogrifying spell again, change you into a form that has all the right parts. Even better, we can do the full transmogrification this time, since I now know to use the elf-to-dragon version instead of the human-to-dragon one. The, ah, _exit_ is much bigger on a full dragon, you'll hardly even notice it," Tim explains, feeling bit more steady as he uses the medical technicalities of the situation to distract himself from other concerns.

"Right, let's hop to it and do that," Stephanie says, already moving across the room, apparently intent on gathering spell components.

"What? No, we can't do it yet."

"Why the fuck not?" Jason demands. "Neither one of us wants a kid right now, let's get rid of this thing as soon as possible."

"It won't come out until it's fully developed and ready. It's… there's a sort of fail-safe factor to dragon eggs—they can protect themselves from everything and are basically invulnerable while inside the parent."

Stephanie pauses to consider this, a jar of hen's teeth in her hand. "What about smashing it once it's out? Is that an option?"

"If you want to be hauled up on charges of assassinating a member of the draconic royal family, sure. They still need to develop for an indeterminate amount of time after laying, but a dragon embryo is a living, thinking being to the point that those that have telepathic abilities have been able to communicate with them," Tim explains. "There's a _reason_ I've been so careful about my activities in the bedroom. Once an egg is started, there's no getting rid of it."

"Ha. If you were really being as careful as you say, you would've at least used a contraceptive charm and none of this would have happened," Stephanie snaps.

Tim wrinkles his nose, frowning. "They make my scales itch."

"Wait, is _that_ why you refuse to use one? You little _sneak_ —! You told me it wouldn't work with dragons when I asked," Jason says, half-rising from where he's sitting.

" _Technically_ I said it wouldn't work with me. Because it won't, since I get too distracted by itchy scales to take advantage of the charm's presence."

Jason thwaps him across the back of the head. "Idiot. I could have worn it, I've never had a problem with them."

" _Contraception_ implies intent to counter a specific event," Tim says dryly. "You wearing it would be useless most of the time, seeing as how you generally don't have the right parts for it to be a problem."

"Seriously? What kind of rock have _you_ been living under? Do they honestly not have prophylactic charms in the draconic lands?" Stephanie asks. She sets the jar back on the shelf, then reaches into a nearby box and pulls out a simple necklace which she tosses over. "Here, free of charge. I keep a stock of both of them on hand to avoid situations exactly like this one—as Jason and the rest of the castle well knows."

"Thank you, Stephanie," Jason says, quickly slipping the charm over his head so that it can rest beside the amulet with Tim's tooth on his chest. "I totally would have gotten one sooner, except _someone_ lied."

"Well that's—that's clearly a recent development! How was I supposed to know such a thing exists?!"

"Tim. Prophylactic charms have been around for over _fifty years_ ," Stephanie flatly informs him.

"Exactly," he says, nodding firmly. "A recent development. I'm a busy person, I can't be expected to keep up with all the newest discoveries in areas outside my specialties."

"Don't look at me," Stephanie tells Jason. " _You're_ the one who decided to take up a silver fox."

 

* * *

 

"I'm sorry about all this. If I hadn't been so keen on seeing what you might look like as one of my people, _this_ ," Tim punctuates the word with a poke at the innocuous lump riding low in Jason's stomach, "never would have happened."

"Hey, careful. That's apparently royalty," Jason protests, batting his fingers away as he sits down on the edge of Tim's bed.

"Ugh, I can't _do_ anything to it. That's why dragon eggs are so hearty—they have to survive everything a dragon goes through, transformations included."

"Right, so." Jason takes in a deep breath, holds it—then exhales and glances over at him. "Are we gonna talk about the elephant in the room?"

"And what elephant would that be?"

"Well. You're going to have to go back to the dragon lands when this egg is… when it comes out, right?" It's something Jason is trying _very hard_ not to think about at the moment—both the egg coming out and what it will mean for Tim once it's here.

"What, and take it from its other parent? I would never do that." Tim glances over, suddenly looking a lot less self-assured than he has all afternoon. "Unless you'd rather I left? I would understand if you did. You never agreed to anything like this, and a dragonet is a big—I mean. I can request that someone else take over the Gotham posting, if you don't want me around anymore. Helena, maybe? No, Bruce would hate her…"

"Hey, what? No, I don't want you to go anywhere! I just thought—if you've got an egg, that means you're back in the running for ruler of the dragons. Same footing as your cousin, right?"

Tim's entire face goes pale, even the normally-blue scales that frame it, and he sits down with a heavy _thump_ on the bed. "Oh gods. I hadn't even… I was so concerned about you, I didn't even think about that."

Well, that's incredibly reassuring—so much so that Jason finds himself fighting down a rather untimely blush—but still doesn't address the problem. "I'm right, though, aren't I? You'll need to go back."

Slumping over so he's half-curled into Jason's side, Tim shrugs a shoulder. "I don't actually know? It's… I've never heard of a candidate's _mate_ carrying the egg before, I'm not sure it'll count? But I think that was more to ensure the continuity of the royal bloodline, and since we know you didn't join with anyone else during the brief time you were in a position to be fertile, that might not count and oh _fuck_ , I thought I'd escaped this." The last is practically wailed into a shoulder.

"Hey. Hey, it's alright. We'll work through this, it's going to be fine." Jason isn't sure how he's ended up being the one dispensing the comfort here when _he's_ the one growing an egg he's not even supposed to be capable of _making_ , but if it's what Tim needs right now, then, well. That's what's going to happen.

"Ugh, I'm going to have to do all kinds of research to figure this out; might even have to fly home for some more books, didn't think I'd need any texts on draconic inheritance law when I came here." Tim sniffles and presses closer, a small, very warm hand worming its way up under Jason's shirt. It's too high up to touch the lump that's the cause of this whole mess, but that doesn't stop fingertips from lightly petting Jason's stomach.

It's the kind of touch that inevitably leads to something more between them, so Jason supposes that means Tim must be calming down. Or maybe just that he's missed him—it's been a month, after all. "Feeling better? Done freaking out on me?"

"I guess, for now. I mean, even if it _does_ count, I won't be back in the running until the egg is laid, and there's always the possibility that Dinah's will hatch first. She laid it more than a year ago, after all."

Not that that particularly matters, from what Tim's told him about dragon eggs. "How long were you in the egg again?"

"Nearly three years after my dad laid me. You hear that?" he says, fingers delving down under the waist of Jason's trousers to press against the lump. "You better take your own sweet time growing in there _and_ you better take a good long while contemplating your existence once your egg is finally finished and out."

"Can it understand you?" Jason asks, genuinely curious.

"Of course not, I doubt the thing is anything more than a yolk at this point. Now, after it's _out_ of you, that's another matter. We are _definitely_ tracking down a telepath and giving it a good talking-to on what's expected of it."

**Author's Note:**

> [I have a tumblr!](http://themandylion.tumblr.com/) Come visit if you want ridiculous AU headcanons, rants about the English language (and/or educational publishing), plague fangirling, adorable baby bats, and veeeeery occasional fanart.


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